Monday, 14 July 2014

A Salon Guest... Foreswearing your faith

Today it is my absolute pleasure to welcome the estimable Anna Belfrage to the salon; she discusses a matter of faith and shares an extract from her wonderful new book!

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Foreswearing your
faith – an everyday occurrence for a 17th century English Catholic

When Martin Luther nailed his 95 theses to that church door
in Wittenberg, he had no idea what he was unleashing on the world. Or maybe he
had, hoping that his actions would cause an incendiary debate and reform in all
things religious. Well, he succeeded in creating debate, all right, and when he
died close to thirty years later, he was still under excommunication by the
pope. By then, Martin Luther no longer recognised the pope’s authority – and
neither did a growing number of people throughout Europe.

At a distance of five hundred years, we can’t comprehend
just how cataclysmic the Reformation was. Over a couple of decades, God-given
truths were turned upside down, one of the more controversial aspects being
that the true believer had no need of priests in his communication with God. It
sufficed to study the Bible and meditate on God’s truth as expressed in the
Holy Book.

Where before the Bible was printed in Latin, now it was
being translated into vernacular, making God’s word available to anyone who
could read. Literacy exploded in Protestant regions, and these newly literate
soon discovered other reading matter than the Bible, thereby starting an
educational process that would culminate in our present day democratic society.

The Holy Roman Church responded forcefully to this new
threat to its hegemony (and finances). Heretics were persecuted, arrested,
tortured and burnt at the stake – nothing new, really.

As the Protestant factions grew stronger, they resorted to
their own persecution, torture and execution – but of Catholics. A sort of tit
for tat, one could say. In general, the assumption was that all Catholics were
loyal to the pope, not to their king or queen. That, I would think, was in
general a correct assumption. For people who still believed in the afterlife
and for whom heaven and hell were realities rather than metaphors, protecting
their eternal souls came first. But from there to assume all Catholics were
nefarious traitors – well, it’s a bit of a leap, isn’t it?

In England, the authorities were taking no chances. James I
introduced legislation aimed at Catholics who aspired to public office whereby
any higher official should regularly receive communion as per the Church of
England rites – anathema to a Catholic – but initially no one seems to have
bothered with upholding it. In fact, James had several capable Catholic men in
positions of trust. Things became somewhat trickier as per the reinforced Corporation
Act of 1661, making it mandatory to partake of the sacraments as per the Church
of England. However, not all Catholics were subject to the law – Catholic peers
were generally exempt.

In 1673, Parliament in its wisdom passed the Test Act. It no
longer sufficed to receive the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper as per Anglican
rites, now anyone aspiring to serve as officers of the court, parliament or the
military, also had to reject the concept of transubstantiation (a central tenet
in the Catholic faith). Further to this, any person aspiring to public office
had to take an Oath of Supremacy and Allegiance, in effect placing their
loyalty to the king of England before that to, for example, the pope.

Clearly all these measures were not enough. In 1678, Titus
Oates revealed the so called Popish Plot to the shocked authorities, describing
detailed plans to rid England of its present monarch. There was no Popish Plot
– Titus was a narrow-minded worm of a man who saw his chance to fame and
grabbed it, titillating his audience with one invented detail after the other.
His ridiculous construction of lies could (and should) have been exposed
immediately by the members of Parliament, but certain members were utterly
thrilled by this development as it gave them an opportunity to further tighten
up the Anti-Catholic legislation.

The reinforced Test Act required all peers and members of
Parliament to declare against transubstantiation, the existence of saints and
the sacraments of Mass, thereby effectively ousting all Catholics from
Parliament. The Catholic lords fought back as well as they could and succeeded
in delaying the act plus managed to weaken it substantially by sneaking in an
exception for the Duke of York – the most Catholic heir to the English throne.

A consequence of all this legislation and badmouthing was to
make life very difficult for Catholics in general. When Edmund Godfrey, a
Protestant magistrate, was found dead, the anti-papists went wild. London
seethed with anger, Catholics were beaten and hounded, and people were warned
to be on their guard: there were evil Jesuits everywhere, there were nasty
recusants hiding throughout the country, horrible Catholic people that wanted
to overthrow the Anglican Church and reinstate the hegemony of the Pope in England.
What can I say? A crowd gone wild is a hotbed of fevered imaginations – even
more so when people in authority foment the flames of lunacy.

England’s anti-Catholic legislation was to remain in place
until 1829, when it was repealed by George IV. By then, the Test Act had long
since played out its role, but for a number of decades in the 17th
century, Catholics did best in keeping a very low profile. Very low. Especially
if you were a Catholic priest.

Religion plays an important part in my series The Graham Saga. My male protagonist,
Matthew Graham, is a devout Presbyterian, a veteran of the Commonwealth armies
and a man who, initially at least, tends to see the world as black or white.
Which is why I gifted him with Alex Lind, an opinionated modern woman who had
the misfortune (or not) of being in the
wrong place at the wrong time, thereby being dragged three centuries back in
time to land concussed and badly singed at an astounded Matthew’s feet.

In Revenge and Retribution,
the recently released sixth instalment of The Graham Saga, Matthew and Alex
welcome an injured Catholic priest into their home. For Matthew, this is not an
entirely easy thing to do, more than aware of the spiritual deficiency that
characterises a papist. Alex doesn’t agree: to her the differences between a
Catholic and a Protestant are very minor – probably reflecting the fact that
she is a modern day woman. In the excerpt below, the Graham household has been
augmented with yet another person, a Presbyterian minister, making things
rather interesting.

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Conversation became
somewhat livelier with two men of God in the house – maybe a bit too lively,
Alex sighed, when Father Muñoz and Minister Allerton settled down for yet
another intense religious debate, the minister seconded by Daniel, the priest
fighting his corner alone.

“Of course,”
Minister Allerton said, “if we belong to the chosen few.” He gave the young
priest a challenging look.

“Hmph!” Father
Muñoz drank deeply from his mug of beer. “God is not that fickle. We live on
this earth a short while, and it’s in many ways a testing ground for eternal
life that comes later. God is merciful and forgives us our trespasses on behalf
of His Son. He sees us labour and strive to be good, and He is pleased. He sees
us fall into a life of evil, and He decides if the stay in purgatory will be
long and painful or if we go to hell directly. But it’s the quality of our sins
and the genuineness of our repentance that ultimately decide our eternal fate.”

Too right, Alex
agreed, even if she sincerely hoped God was somewhat selective when it came to
deathbed repentance. If not, heaven would be chock-full of some rather nasty
types.

“Purgatory!”
Minister Allerton waved dismissively. “Nowhere in the scriptures is that
mentioned. It’s nothing but a figment of imagination that allows the dying
sinners to hope they may still be saved.”

“Not to me,” Father
Muñoz said, looking quite mulish. “To me, God is more prone to forgive than
damn, and as such He has created one last opportunity for the lost soul to gain
entry to heaven.”

The argument went
on and on, the churchmen plunging deeper and deeper into the scriptures and the
history of the Christian Church.

“Why be good?”
Father Muñoz argued. “Why should we strive to lead exemplary lives if God has
already preordained who goes to Heaven?”

“Why be good?”
Minister Allerton replied mockingly. “Why strive to lead exemplary lives if all
you have to do is beg forgiveness for your sins before you die?”

Most of the adults
around the table nodded in agreement.

“Lewd and sinful,”
Mrs Parson muttered to Alex. “All papists are, more or less. And then, on their
deathbed, they recant. Not that it helps the misguided souls, bound for hell as
they are. Pity on the wee priest who seems a good enough man – just like his
father.”

“Hmm,” Alex said as
neutrally as she could, and then brought the whole discussion to a halt by
plonking down the pudding dish in the middle of the table.